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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24056929">Golden Gates</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/bakers_impala221/pseuds/bakers_impala221'>bakers_impala221</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Sherlock (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Bittersweet Ending, Established Relationship, Grief, M/M, Mourning, Moving On, POV - Sherlock Holmes, Sad, canon-divergent</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 18:09:06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,293</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24056929</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/bakers_impala221/pseuds/bakers_impala221</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>‘You’ll have to let me go there someday, Sherlock,’ he whispered, the change piercing the static air around them, charging it with near-frantic energy.</p><p>Instinctively, Sherlock pulled him in closer. ‘Of course,’ he said, wrapping his arm around him tightly, protectively. ‘We’ll go together.’</p><p> </p><p>  <em>Oh, all my nights taste like gold.</em><br/><em>When I'm with you it's like everything glows</em></p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Sherlock Holmes/John Watson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>23</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Golden Gates</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This story is almost completely identical to the original Destiel version <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23679400/chapters/56847331">Golden Gates.</a> You're welcome to read both/either, depending on the ship you'd rather read about. Just minor changes have been made to suit characterisation.</p><p>Anyway, I hope you enjoy.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sherlock watched the hand swirling slowly, silhouetted in the beam of Eastern sunlight streaming from the window, in between the plain, white curtains dripping from the rod. The shadows danced and flickered on his face. His eyes were lazy, tired, he breathed out slowly, swimming in contentment, the corners of his mouth turned up in an easy smile.</p><p>John mirrored his sigh, erupting a rustle of bedsheets as he turned to drape his arm over Sherlock’s chest. Sherlock smiled down at him.</p><p>The sunlight had their bodies bathed ethereally in gold. It reminded him gently of infinity; all the stars and planets he’d never see.</p><p><em>It’s too much for me</em>, he’d one told him, when John had teased his knowledge on the solar system. <em>There’s too much in this world to remember to bother understanding the places I’ll never get to be.</em></p><p>‘<em>Is there anywhere you haven’t been?’ </em>Sherlock asked, returning to the present, his voice quiet and rough with disuse.</p><p>John titled his face, craning his neck to see him, eyes glittering blue in the light. Sherlock lifted his hand and settled it against his face, pulled in by the hypnotic force of his magnetic beauty. He could feel the skin of his cheek shift beneath his palm as John laughed at him.</p><p>John shifted so he could gaze back out the window at the clear, blue sky. His eyes were glazed over, lost in his own headspace for a moment.</p><p>‘<em>I’ve always wanted to see the bridge,’ </em>he said after a moment, nodding in the direction of the mantle.</p><p>Sherlock followed his gaze. <em>‘The Golden Gate?’</em></p><p>Still staring at the post card, Sherlock could feel John’ nod against arm. He smiled; pictured them stood huddled together as they watched the sunset; lifting the camera to capture it and memorise every aspect of their happiness. He felt a quiet sense of euphoria as the sunlight seeping in through the window beamed at him, shimmered softly against his cheek, warming it to chambré.</p><p><em>‘Haven’t you been to San Francisco?’ </em>he asked.</p><p><em>‘Once,’ </em>he murmured. ‘<em>But I was young. And I only ever saw the bridge from afar.’</em></p><p>Sherlock looked back down; allowing their eyes to meet.</p><p>‘<em>I’ve always wanted to be there, up close. To watch the sunset,’ he said wistfully.</em></p><p>Then the ambiance of the room suddenly shifted; John pawed almost desperately at Sherlock’s chest. ‘<em>You’ll have to let me go there someday, Sherlock,</em>’ he whispered, the change piercing the static air around them, charging it with near-frantic energy.</p><p>Instinctively, Sherlock pulled him in closer. ‘<em>Of course, John,’</em> he said, wrapping his arm around him tighter; possessive. <em>‘We’ll go together</em>.’</p><p>He shut his eyes tightly and clung to the shorter man. He waited until John eventually regained composure, and Sherlock smiled, a small, soft smile, when he nestled peacefully against his chest.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Sherlock closed his eyes against a rush of wind, the cars whipping by in front of him.</p><p>When he reopened them, he looked up slowly; watched the red beams strike blindingly against the sunlight. The cool breeze wafted by, and his hand trembled.</p><p>He smiled, tears gathering in the corner of his eyes, blown away by the wind like the meagre drops of spitted rain, never amounting to anything. They faded away into the cement.</p><p>His gaze drifted across the horizon line until his neck was craned to its right. His mind conjured an image of John, pictured him standing alongside him.</p><p>John smiled, warm and pleasant, his body ghostly and non-tangible; an aching reminder of the impossible, unreachable dream. John reached out his hand, and Sherlock’s own twitched by his side, itching to take it.</p><p>Sherlock looked back up again. He watched the sunlight dance on the metal, licking down the frame, desperate and clinging before its inevitable end.</p><p>Drawing his hand up in front of his chest, Sherlock flicked open his notepad. With a sweep of his wrist, he etched a long pencil line across the white paper, staring down at the pad before repocketing the grey lead. He sighed, eyes scanning over the page a final time before he flicked his wrist, watching the notepad fall elegantly shut against the hand-written note.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>
    <span class="u">Bucket list</span>
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <strike>Visit Harry</strike>
</p><p>
  <strike>Date at Hyde Park</strike>
</p><p>
  <strike>Sex</strike>
</p><p>
  <strike>Remind Sherlock I love him</strike>
</p><p><strike>Write my own eulogy</strike> <em>John, no</em></p><p>
  <strike>DRAMATICALLY READ MY EULOGY</strike>
</p><p>
  <strike>AT A MOCK FUNERAL</strike>
</p><p>
  <strike>WITH ALL OF MY FRIENDS</strike>
</p><p><strike>Quit job at the office</strike> <em>That’s not a usual choice for a bucket list. </em><strong>Usual is boring, Sherlock. You taught me that, you twat. </strong><em>Fair point.</em></p><p><strike>Walk smugly out without looking back</strike> <em>I admire the flair. </em><strong>Why, thank you.</strong></p><p><strike>Force Sherlock to buy the milk</strike> <em>I’ll never do it, John. </em><strong>I know I will break you eventually. </strong><em>I highly doubt that.</em></p><p>
  <strike>Marry him</strike>
</p><p><strike>Sex</strike> <em>You already said that one</em></p><p>
  <strike>SEX</strike>
</p><p>
  <strike>S E X, SHERLOCK</strike>
  <em> Fine. There’ll be some sex, then. </em>
  <strong>:)</strong>
</p><p>
  <strike>Make Sherlock breakfast</strike>
</p><p>
  <strike>And lunch</strike>
</p><p>
  <strike>And dinner</strike>
</p><p>
  <strike>And desert</strike>
</p><p><strike>And give him everything he ever wanted</strike> <em><strike>█████</strike></em></p><p>Don’t cry</p><p>
  <strike>See the Golden Gate Bridge</strike>
</p><p>
  <strike>Remind Sherlock I love him</strike>
</p><p>
  <strike>Make him laugh</strike>
</p><p>
  <strike>Kiss him when he does</strike>
</p><p>
  <strike>Cherish Sherlock</strike>
</p><p><strike>Really do, actually, force him to get the damn milk</strike> <em>Good luck with that. </em><strong>Oh, I don’t need luck.</strong></p><p>
  <span class="u">Do not cry</span>
</p><p>
  <strike>Smile</strike>
</p><p>
  <strike>Remind Sherlock I love him</strike>
</p><p>
  <strike>Make sure he knows it</strike>
</p><p>
  <strike>Make sure he’s happy</strike>
</p><p>Let him move on</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Walking up onto the bridge, Sherlock bent down, knees cracking, back aching, until his knees hit the cement. With one hand he clutched the urn while the other worked to screw open the lid.</p><p>He lowered it into the crook of his elbow, letting his head drop forward, forehead pressed into the metal beams. The wind sighed against his face, a long, continuous exhale. He breathed, ignoring the chattering seagulls and pedestrians around him, ignoring the never-ending rush of cars and zephyr, and focusing on the roaring gush of the gulf below.</p><p>The ache in his chest eased minutely and he leaned back, feeling the heaviness of the urn weigh down his arm.</p><p>Taking a breath, he extended his arm until his wrist connected with the railing, turning it to angling the jar until ashes streamed from the lip in a scattered, confused waterfall of dust.</p><p>They blew around frantically in the wind, dancing uncontrollably, and lost. Particles brushed up onto the cement, flew into his face, got caught in his hair. The rush and mayhem continued. He kept his eyes determinedly open, unblinking, watching John’s last remnants fade away until the urn was empty and light.</p><p>He pulled back his hand, listened to the clink of the base as he set down the weight by his side. He crouched silently, painfully, feeling airy and untethered as the sun dipped behind the ocean line and buried itself under the sepulchre of sea.</p><p>‘Here,’ he said, his eyes scanning the horizon-line. ‘John, I got you here. You’re safe.’</p><p>Shifting slightly, he pulled out the notepad once again, feeling the rough, worn cover under his fingers. He flipped it open, pulled out his pencil, and slowly crossed out the last line.</p><p>‘I love you,’ he whispered to the wind, feeling the cold acutely as it met with his tears.</p><p>‘I love you.’</p><p>He pocketed the notepad, grabbed the urn and stood up, feeling his legs sigh under the relief. With his free hand, he reached up to his hair, brushing away a few stray ashes, his eyes trained on the sea. He lingered for a moment, feeling the wind brushing against him, waving his coat collar frantically against his neck like a flag in the wind. He breathed in and smiled to the ocean.</p><p>‘Bye, John’ he whispered, and he knew he meant it.</p><p>He clutched the urn to his chest before turning to leave.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Helpful tip: I love comments. Please leave comments and kudos. I love them all.</p><p>Note: please let me know if I've made any mistakes with the Johnlock conversion process (if I left any remnants of Destiel in there by accident). Otherwise, I hope you enjoyed. Xx</p></blockquote></div></div>
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